The Cynic and The Believer
by CelestialFlower
Summary: E/R centered. Kind of AU but hopefully not OOC. Grantaire wonders if Enjolras will ever feel anything but contempt for him. Probably eventual slash.
1. Chapter 1

For Les Amis de L'Abaisse it had been a pretty standard meeting. They had arrived at the Musain, Combeferre performed his usual monologue on whatever took his fancy at the time. He'd previously talked about new medicine theories and theatre but today's topic was cosmology. He prided himself on having varied interests. After that there was less organisation to proceedings, Feuilly complained about his job, Jolllly fretted about the latest disease he thought he had, whilst asking others to inspect his tongue and Jean Prouvaire quoted from his newly acquired poetry book. In his favourite corner, Grantaire the cynic was making snide comments about the futility of existence whilst getting progressively drunker.

Enjolras was biding his time until the interesting part (in his opinion) of the meeting would start. He was re-reading some notes he'd made on one of Rousseau's books to give him inspiration, not that it was completely lacking. Eventually the noise in the room lessened to a dull muttering and his moment had arrived. He rose and made his way to stand beneath the old map (they had hanging on the wall) of France under the republic. The remaining noise ceased as all eyes turned to him.

"My friends…" he began.

Then, he went on. He spoke of revolution, of a world beyond the one they now inhabited, one where everyone was equal, where everyone was happy. He spoke of no more bloodshed, no more demons, and with their demise, the redundancy of angels. He inspired hope in them, told them that the time had come for their world to be better and they would make it so. All the while, Les Amis clapped and offered confirmation of what he was saying. Despite this, the thought just under the surface of Enjolras' mind was, "Now if only we were to survive to see it".

However, one man -Combeferre- saw this thought. Combeferre read it in his eyes, but he didn't see uncertainty or fear. He knew Enjolras had accepted what was going to inevitably be his fate, his death in the impending revolution. Combeferre had decided long ago, he was to share it with him. Across the room, Grantaire didn't see the thought. Perhaps his senses were too befuddled with alcohol or perhaps he simply refused to entertain the possibility that his idol was anything less than 100% sure of himself and his cause. Or maybe he couldn't contemplate the idea of Enjolras' death. Enjolras was his rock, his pillar to lean on; without him, Grantaire knew there would be no hope left in his life. Without him, there'd be no point to his life.

After Enjolras spoke, there was a group discussion and one by one the Amis got up to leave. Eventually Enjolras was left alone, sitting at his regular middle table working on some university assignment.

For a few minutes silence prevailed in the back room of the Musain, broken only by Enjolras' pen scratching at his parchment. As usual he was so concentrated on his essay that he didn't notice another's presence in the room. Then the clink of a bottle on a table snapped his head up from his work and his eyes focussed on the single occupant of the table in the corner. Although it was wreathed in darkness and he could only see a silhouette, he knew there was only one person it could be. He sighed in exasperation, and kicking back his chair, rose to stride purposefully across the room. He pulled back a chair at the table and sat down to see that the bottle that had alerted him was once more at the lips of its owner.

"Grantaire, put that bottle down!"

Grantaire jumped in surprise at his idol's sudden outburst and instead of putting the bottle down, he dropped it and it rolled across the table and dropped onto Enjolras' lap. "Augh!" Enjolras jumped up and the bottle clunked to the floor.

"Grantaire you idiot!"

He started desperately trying to brush the amber liquid off but only succeeded in spreading it. Grantaire meanwhile had nervously jumped up and, emboldened by his inebriation and the fact that it was his fault, grabbed Enjolras' shirt and started rubbing it with his shirt sleeve.

After a couple of seconds, Enjolras squirmed his way free.

"What are you doing?" he gasped.

Grantaire jumped back and started nervously wringing his hands, unwilling to meet his eye.

"I- well I j'st th'ght th't you want'd help g-getting it off" he managed to stutter and slur at the same time.

Enjolras gave him an icy look. "I think you've helped enough".

He swept off to collect his papers and then left the room. Left behind, Grantaire sank back to his seat. As what he had been drinking was now decorating the man who would probably never feel anything but contempt for him, he simply sat back and stared into the gloom, thinking as clearly as his current state would allow. Which was not very clearly at all.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N Hi! So I don't really like this chapter but guhhh, it has to happen. Next chapter should be better because I have a good idea. Sorry for the delay, I had a bit of trouble with this one but I decided to just upload it. This is my first fic so reviews would make me so happy._

_Also disclaimer: I own nothing, all credit to Victor Hugo. Enjoy _

Back at his apartment in the university district of Paris, Grantaire was thinking about his life. He had a bottle of wine by his feet but he wasn't drinking. He may have reflected that this was odd had he not been so engrossed in his thoughts. As it was, he was re-evaluating his life once again. He thought of how much of a failure he was, an art school dropout who would never be worthy of anything. Grantaire found himself getting depressed at this line of thought and decided to turn his attention to the only thing in his life that didn't make him want to give up and make sure he didn't wake up the next time he fell asleep.

He was wondering how on earth he would ever get a certain golden haired revolutionary to like him. The first step was obvious; he would have to quit drinking. This would be difficult, Grantaire didn't know if he could ever say goodbye to his Green Lady but one thing was certain, he would try. Of course, Enjolras probably wouldn't even tolerate him if he was sober for one simple reason: he didn't believe. Not just in the cause, though that was reason enough; Grantaire did not believe in anything. He often questioned his inclusion in the group but in any case, he came to the meetings and the others tolerated him. Grantaire was convinced that he could never gain any faith, he would just have to…oh. Grantaire's head snapped up as a brilliant idea came to him. If he didn't understand Enjolras' world, well that was nothing compared to how little the Revolutionary knew of Grantaire's. Just then he noticed the sky outside his window was starting to turn dark and he cursed under his breath, there was a meeting of Les Amis de L'ABC tonight and if he didn't hurry, he would be late. And he had a very good reason why he didn't want that to happen.

Grantaire arrived at the Corinthe (why they had to have the meeting here on the Workers' side of Paris tonight was the sort of luck only Bossuet would have enjoyed), out of breath, but only five or so minutes late. He made his way inside and greeted his friends.

The meeting seemed to Grantaire to go on forever, but then again, tonight was too important to mess up so Grantaire was attempting to suffer through it sober which only made time seem to slow down. The lack of alcohol at Grantaire's roused some strange looks and a couple of questioning comments to which Grantaire would only reply that he had something he needed to do. This of course raised more questions than provided answers but no one wanted to investigate further as they were simply happy that they could enjoy the meeting without having to listen to drunken comments emanating from the back corner.

This of course meant that Grantaire didn't say anything, but simply sat and observed Enjolras as he spoke and as he discussed with the other members. Being able to focus his full attention on him was, in Grantaire's opinion, the only benefit of his forced sobriety.

After the meeting, Grantaire sat in his corner and bided his time, waiting for everyone to leave. He had never noticed but it seemed a lot of Les Amis flocked to Enjolras for advice or inspiration or whatnot. Although, he wasn't surprised, Enjolras clearly cared deeply, in his own way, for all the members of the group. That is, except Grantaire. Eventually, after Enjolras finished explaining to Courfeyrac why he shouldn't drop out of law school, and how he wouldn't be able to take the blame for Marius every time, and for god's sake Courfeyrac are those waistcoats really necessary, Courfeyrac left, leaving only two in the wine shop. Enjolras, in typical fashion, brought out a book, the second he thought he was alone.

This time Grantaire didn't wait, he stood up and crossed the wine shop with a firm stride and sat across from Enjolras. The man in question did not look up from his book. Grantaire, however was undeterred and, after observing Enjolras silently for a minute, leaned forward to read the name printed on his idol's book.

"Rosseau. Of course".

Enjolras sighed and shut the book, finally looking at Grantaire.

"What do you want Grantaire?" His tone was resigned, expecting Grantaire to spout his usual cynical rubbish, ridicule his revolution and then storm from the room when Enjolras defended it. They'd been through this before. Of course he hadn't noticed the main difference between now and those times yet.

"Want?" Grantaire asked mock offended. "My dear Apollo, I simply wished to speak with you".

Enjolras rolled his eyes at the nickname and responded, "Grantaire, I do wish you would stop comparing me to a God and I don't know what your intention is but could you please…". He trailed off and his expression turned suddenly thoughtful. "Grantaire, not only are you not slurring your words, you do not reek of alcohol like you usually do." He narrowed his eyes at the cynic and leaned forward. "Are you sober?"

Grantaire smiled broadly. "Of course I am O Radiant One. I mean to have a cohesive conversation with you, if you would permit it. I mean, it wouldn't be a very good luck for you as a leader, to speak with some disciples and not others."

Enjolras sighed again, but couldn't help a small smile creeping on to his face. "Alright, Grantaire, I concede your point and I will consent to speak with you".

"Excellent." Grantaire mimicked Enjolras and leaned forward, placing his elbow on the table and his chin on his hand. "Enjolras, I know you can't stand me". Enjolras opened his mouth to say something but Grantaire held up a hand and continued. "Don't deny it, it's true. And the fact of the matter is, you have every right to be. I mean, look at me, I'm a cynic, I'm drunk much of the time and I don't believe in anything".

"And you feel the need to scorn any faith anyone else has", Enjolras added.

Grantaire smiled grimly, acknowledging the point. "That too. However I would like things to change. And I have thought of a way."

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Pleased that he had aroused his leader's curiosity, Grantaire launched into his idea. "Well, you think that I am a worthless cynic, which I may be, but you know nothing of the reasons for that. I thought maybe I could show you my reasons, the way I see the world. In return you can tell me why you hold the ideals you hold, and you could show me the way you see the world. Perhaps then, we could understand each other." He finished and waited for Enjolras to respond.

Enjolras sat there for a moment, with the same considering expression. Finally, he said slowly, "I think that is an excellent idea"

Grantaire's face split into a relieved smile. "Perfect, shall we say, the Luxembourg Gardens, tomorrow, around 11?"

Enjolras nodded, and satisfied, Grantaire said "I'll not keep you from your book any longer", got up and turned to leave.

Enjolras' voice stopped him. "And Grantaire?" He paused at the door, and turned back to face Enjolras who continued, "sober improves you immensely, you should try it more often".

Grantaire smiled slightly. "Goodnight Apollo", he said quietly before letting the door swing shut behind him.

He didn't hear the soft "Goodnight R", as he made his way out into the night.

_Thank for you reading_


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N Hi! Sorry this took a while, this has actually been half done for a couple weeks, I finally just sat down and finished it tonight so sorry if the two halves don't quite connect properly. It's also almost midnight and I'm feeling kind of broken in the heart area so…Anyway enjoy, please review and I'll try to get the next chapter up soon._

_Cath: Thank you so much. This might be a little sad but I promise this is not intended to be a tragedy fic (I quite agree with you by the way._

_MirandaTam42: Why thank you and here you go _

_TotaltotheMax: Thank you thank you! I don't speak French but I'll take your word for it and this is me! Not giving up!_

Enjolras awoke as a shaft of sunlight fell across his face from the open window and sat up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. For a minute he simply sat there staring around at his empty apartment, wondering whether he should write that paper for his law class the next day or whether he should get on to that speech… Then he remembered.

'Grantaire', he murmured, and was then found himself torn between the desire to dive back under his covers and never get up, and the desire to get up and run to the Luxembourg. He deliberated for a second, and then flopped back down on his bed. And then got up.

Enjolras had never thought of himself as someone who expended effort on his appearance but after finding himself staring at the inside of his wardrobe for at least a minute, he mentally shook himself.

'For god's sake, get a grip, it's just a walk in the Gardens'. He decided to dress as he always did, except of course the red jacket. He would rather not be conspicuous while out in public. He strode over to his dresser and took the fob watch he had placed there the previous evening after returning from the Musain. It was 10:30. Time to go.

The Luxembourg Gardens were centrally located, meaning that Enjolras had to walk through the middle of Paris, a pastime he both loved and despised. He loved it because of the people, all those Parisians, sauntering along the boulevards, just living. He despised it for the same reason. Invariably his attention was drawn to those huddled in corners, shivering from cold and hunger, to the street gamins running barefoot and yelling and to the skinny girls in ripped chemises standing in groups trying to catch the attention of the passing bourgeois. Enjolras couldn't help but press a few sous into the hands of the beggars and the prostitutes but he couldn't do anything else and it made him sad, but more than that it made him determined. He was going to change this. He was because he must. Perhaps he could show Grantaire this, change his mind about the Republic, if only he could open his eyes to the suffering all around…

He came to the Luxembourg Gardens just before 11 and realised he and Grantaire hadn't been specific about where exactly they would meet, but then he spotted the cynic on a bench near the entrance. He looked up as Enjolras approached and nodded to him as he sat next to him.

"Good morning Enjolras", he greeted him smiling, "you look.. well dressed."

Enjolras frowned, down at himself and looked up to see Grantaire smiling mischievously at him.

"It was a joke mon ami, you look wonderful. Although the cravat may have been overkill."

Enjolras was not pleased at how his cheeks started to feel warm when Grantaire said 'wonderful', and fought to keep his expression neutral. He'd warded off unwanted advances before, but he was overthinking, this was Grantaire, not some love-struck young girl. Still, it meant he couldn't just glare at him and know he'd back down. And the cravat was certainly not 'overkill'.

"Let's take a walk" Grantaire said abruptly and Enjolras acquiesced with a nod. They ambled along the path. After a couple of minutes Enjolras became aware that Grantaire was watching him rather intently.

"What are you doing?" he asked, more exasperated than annoyed.

"Observing you", Grantaire replied.

"Oh? And what are you noticing?"

"A surprising amount actually. When you walk you keep your eyes fixed ahead, you never look around, you never stop, you just keep walking."

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. "What-"

"No", Grantaire interrupted. "Let me speak please". Without waiting for Enjolras to respond, he kept going. "I think it's a perfect representation of your character. You're so focused on you revolution, you let the world pass you by. You're so consumed with the idea of Patria, that you have become, forgive me, blind to her."

"What?" Enjolras spluttered, "I love-"

"Yes I know, you love your Patria, the beautiful France," Grantaire replied patiently. "But you don't notice her. Take now for instance." He took hold of Enjolras' elbow and gently guided him to the edge of the path where they faced the flowerbeds that bordered it.

"What do you see?"

Enjolras rolled his eyes and looked around. There. He pointed a little way off where a couple of small grimy children were crouching together by a small pond, watching another young boy, who was clearly bourgeois, judging by his expensive clothes and pale, clean skin, sitting on a bench, eating a pastry of some kind. "I see the hunger and suffering of the people. I see the inequality between them, I see all that I'm fighting to change."

Grantaire chuckled and Enjolras turned, raising an eyebrow. "What's funny?" He asked pointedly.

"You are, dear Apollo", Grantaire replied, still smiling. "Because you see all that, while what I see, are the flowers".

Enjolras let his gaze fall to them briefly, but looked up and scoffed. "Useless frivolities". He paused. "And I'm quite sure I've spoken to you about using that nickname."

Grantaire laughed for real this time. "I'm sure you have. Still. My point."

Enjolras frowned at him. "Wait so the point of this was for me to convince you to believe in a cause I believe in and rebut all your stupid arguments?" he scoffed and stepped aside to continue down the path.

"Wait." Grantaire's voice made him stop and turned back to him. Grantaire had lost his earlier composure and seemed smaller. "I just want to believe. Please."

Enjolras sighed and nodded. "Okay. But first, you have to tell me why you don't think you can ever believe."

Grantaire walked over to the nearest bench and sat down, Enjolras following. Grantaire took a deep breath and then started to speak.

"I'm sorry, I really am." Grantaire's eyes were focused on his hands that he was twisting nervously together and forcing himself not to meet Enjolras' eyes. "I just thought if… anyway I wanted to tell you my story so that maybe you'll tell me yours and then maybe we'd understand each other and not fight so much." He paused and Enjolras nodded slightly before realising Grantaire couldn't see and muttered softly "I would like that."

Emboldened slightly by these words, Grantaire continued. "I haven't had a bad life, not at all, I mean look at me, I'm fairly well-off studying in Paris and all that. It wouldn't be fair for me to tell a sob story and expect you to forgive me because of that and I'm not going to lie to you. I would never do that. My life was fairly ordinary, I was just a stuck-up aristocratic brat who thought he wanted to move to Paris and become an artist. Oh I dreamed about this city. I wanted to walk through the boulevards at night in the rain and then come home and just paint it, the colours, the way the water would cascade over the facades of all those ancient buildings and I would paint the people, each of them having their lives in the city but I would take a tiny instant of that and I would immortalize them so that I could come back and think about them, who they are and where they're going. I thought I could stare into the azure depths of infinity in one city, so many possibilities and paths and choices but I could just take a second of that… Sorry I'm getting off track. Anyway I was a dreamer. I loved to wander to the ocean and back and sit in our garden and think. My mother would often sit with me. She was an amazing woman and I loved her dearly. She inspired me, I think, she dreamed, if possible more than I did. She also had the gift of foresight which I lacked and she was grounded whereas I was in the clouds. She had such a caring heart. She cared for everyone. And I mean everyone. She gave alms every Sunday at Mass and she would walk around our village and talk to people, offering small words of comfort and advice. She had a way of speaking…. Much like yours Apollo. She had such passion and such hope and one couldn't help but feel less worthless after a conversation with her. Anyway she died. When I was fourteen. My world ended, really it did. I couldn't go outside for months and I could feel the walls closing in on me, I felt like couldn't escape. I suppose I fell out of the clouds. My father and I; well we have never really gotten on very well and that was the final straw. He locked himself away, I suppose when I needed him most. He put all his effort into his work, I only ever saw him at mealtimes. The rest of the time I was being tutored. He also stepped up my education. He never saw art as a viable career option, it was only my mother's words that made him put up with it as a hobby of mine. It was decided that when I turned eighteen, I was to study in Paris to become a lawyer. I suppose he thought I would be overjoyed at the prospect knowing, as he did, of my love for the city I had never even set foot in. I wasn't, I didn't want to leave. That would be, was, leaving the last traces of my mother behind, truly forgetting her in the vastness of the people I would never actually know. On my eighteenth birthday, he called me into his study. He gave me money and a lease for an apartment… and he told me how he'd lied to me. Before that he said that my mother died after a fall in the grounds behind our house… but she actually killed herself."

Grantaire paused again staring at the grounds. He only looked up when he felt another hand close over his own, pressing down comfortingly. He met Enjolras' eyes and the latter smiled encouragingly. "Please keep going Grantaire."

Grantaire swallowed and looked down again. "I couldn't believe it, someone of her spirit, her passion. It just didn't make any sense that she could believe in something, in the good of people, in me, that she could believe so fervently but she still suffered enough that she would do that. It didn't matter that she believed, that she was strong in the end, she died anyway. I suppose I decided then, that there was no point caring for others, why should you suffer trying to do some good when it was all going to mean nothing, be worth nothing, when you were still going to die all the same? I moved to Paris, and I tried to create my own dream but everything around me was grey and cold. There were people of course, their emotions, their history, their beliefs lighting up the darkness in little colourful flashes of flame. I felt, and I still feel more human when I'm around people, like I can keep warm by standing near to them or just look at them and the bottom of a wine bottle so I don't have to look at myself and see just how much I blend into the background. The only problem is they all burn me if I get too close." He glanced up at Enjolras. "You burn the brightest Apollo, you're burning me all the time, but I can't lose you. I can't."

Grantaire finally ran out of words and looked down again ashamed that he had said too much, that things would be awkward now.

Enjolras was still holding Grantaire's hand in his own and now he pressed it again causing Grantaire to look up again.

"Thank you for telling me Grantaire." He said sincerely. "I think it's my turn now."

Enjolras hesitated for a second. "I feel like you were trying to explain why you don't believe and I think I understand, sort of. I do think it is worth a little suffering if you can do some good but I don't know how else to make you understand so I'll just tell you my story as you have told me yours. I am also a child of aristocracy, I grew up in the South of France and I…. well that's interesting. Now it is you who have spoken so eloquently and I am at a loss for words. This is indeed a strange day. My parents weren't very nice people Grantaire and I am ashamed of them to be honest. Maybe that's why I have always been so passionate about equality, because of seen what people who aren't do and I swore to myself I would never be like that. I can just see it and I wish I could explain that to you. I wish I could explain waking up and every morning and only seeing one objective, maybe that doesn't make me a good person, I think I've accepted that I'll be alone in this. That's why I love the Amis so much, including you. There is nothing that can compare to being around people who want the same as you."

He stopped talking and met Grantaire's eyes. They continued to sit there and talk for hours after that, both returning to their respective apartments just as the sun was starting to sink below the horizon.

Enjolras stayed up a while longer, sitting at his desk letting a candle burn down to the stub, something he would normally call wasteful when he was struck by an idea. His forehead creased slightly and then he grabbed a piece of parchment and started scribbling furiously onto it. He had a feeling Les Amis would be in for a surprise come the next meeting.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N. Hi! Okay I know this is really short but I realized this is all I wanted from this chapter so I hope you like it. As always, please review, you have no idea how happy it makes me and thank you to all those reading._

_TotalToTheMax: Haha cool. I wasn't really going for anything but now that you mention it, I did want her character to be like his._

_SarahBob: Thank you thank you! I'm sorry I'm slow at updating._

For Les Amis De L'Abaisse, it had not been a very standard meeting. It began oddly and didn't improve very much. When the Amis entered, it was to find Enjolras and Grantaire already there, talking intently with each other at the table in the corner. They both looked up, almost startled when their friends entered and quickly got up to greet them. If they thought it was strange that their leader and he least loyal member of their group were having a conversation they clearly didn't want the rest of them knowing about, they didn't remark upon it.

So the meeting went on. Courfeyrac expressed his surprise at Grantaire's continued sobriety ("Two meetings in a row! Should we celebrate this day forevermore?"), Combeferre started speaking about a medical lecture he had attended, and then promptly got into an argument with Joly on the proper way to treat a fever, before both of them became distracted by Bahorel's arrival, adorned, as he was, with some souvenirs from a recent fight (Feuilly wasted no time in telling him what an idiot he was.) Order completely disappeared after that point, there was more drinking and yelling than the back room of the Café Musain had seen in a while.

That ended however when Enjolras got up to speak. As soon as he stood up, silence fell over the room, glasses were put down and seats were taken.

He started with something out of the ordinary. He smiled at them. "My friends, today we are going to do something a little different." He paused and almost smiled at their looks of surprise. "We are all going to the Barriere du Maine. Pamphlets are in the boxes in the corner."

It took a second but then everyone started to move, grabbing boxes and moving out the door and in the commotion no one saw Enjolras slip Grantaire a reassuring smile. It was no mystery how badly Grantaire had messed up when he tried to convert those who frequented the Barriere du Maine to the Amis' way of thinking, perhaps this was a chance for redemption for the cynical (not-so) drunk?

In any case, ten minutes later saw them arriving in style at the Barriere du Maine. They were clearly expected as there wasn't any violent opposition to a group of young revolutionists invading their gambling space. Courfeyrac led the charge in attempting to press pamphlets into hands while Enjolras made his way to the front and conferred briefly with one of the men sitting closest to the raised platform used as a stage on the rare occasion there were performers. The man could be seen to acquiesce to something and Enjolras, satisfied, jumped onto the platform and waited for silence.

That which he got soon enough.

He knew that his speech would have to be convincing to get them on their side…. Or did it?

"As you all know, we are here to convince you of something. And that thing is to change. Specifically yourselves. There are people living in dreadful inequality while you sit out here, drinking and gambling your lives away…"

He went on in this fashion, catering his regular speech to people who, to all intents and purposes would prefer to waste their lives in this bar then lift a finger to help those in need.

When he finished he asked if there were any questions in the imperious attitude that his friends had gotten used to, but often ruffled the feathers of those not used to it, which may have been the reason for the tone the first question was asked in.

The man Enjolras had spoken to earlier, whom the Amis guessed to be the leader stood up. "That's all very well, but why should we? We could live our lives in comfort and luxury or we could give up our wealth to suffer on the behalf of others with no thanks and when we die, impoverished, we would die in the knowledge that we spent our short time on earth unhappy and not having changed anything. Because we won't you know, nothing we can do will make a difference."

The others nodded and murmured their assent to their leader's question while the Amis looked to each other in dismay. They knew he had made a legitimate point, or at least, his followers would think it was.

Enjolras however had been expecting exactly that. Time for the surprise. He smiled. Grantaire hesitated a second before returning the smile, albeit a little nervously.

"That is an excellent question." Enjolras addressed his rival leader. "One which I should love to answer. However today I think I shall leave it to one of my friends… Grantaire?"

Shocked expressions were exchanged between the Amis and Jehan actually gasped, though that was probably more out of excitement than anything else, as Grantaire made his way up to the stage.

"Okay" he started slightly awkwardly with his hand in his pockets. "I just wanted to… okay." He said again but this time, he straightened his posture and began to speak.

"I understand completely what you are saying. I mean who doesn't enjoy drinking and gambling. God knows I do" he looked down and smiled a little self-deprecatingly while some astonished laughter broke out among his friends. "However" he continued. "There comes a time when we must make a decision. One that acknowledges our position as not being the center of the universe. We can choose to ignore all of those around us who desperately need our help, or we can choose to provide that help. Yes means giving up comfort. Yes it means a little less immediate happiness. But the rewards are there, and they are immeasurable. I'm not going to talk of souls or the quest for heaven, simply because I am not religious and I know you don't take that seriously. Instead what I will say is that things will change. And they will change because of us. We probably won't live to see all of our fellow humans living in equality, but we can live to enact small changes that will make a number of people happier. And that is reward enough. For you see, we could waste our lives, drinking, smoking, spending money on brief pleasures before retreating back into the darkness, or we could accept our less than perfect existences and step out into the light, even if it burns our eyes. For then, we would die, not regretful, but content in the knowledge that we tried, that we did our part to change the world." He paused, had he said enough? Too much? Never mind, he should practice what he preaches, he tried. Oh god, let him not have failed again, just when Enjolras trusted him to do something…

"Thank you" he finished.

Silence stretched over the room, and Grantaire felt his heart thudding against his ribs. He kept his gaze resolutely down, unwilling to glance at his marble leader, too afraid of the look of disappointment he was sure to find there.

Then, the leader, the one who had questioned Enjolras, the one who looked like he wanted to break Grantaire's teeth out, stood up and walked over to Feuilly who was holding a stack of pamphlets, and took one. This action sparked the rest of those who frequent the Barriere du Maine. It seemed to Grantaire that he blinked and suddenly everyone had a pamphlet and was discussing the revolution with the enthusiastic Amis. Grantaire looked up to meet Enjolras' eyes now. A small smile graced the leader's face, one that Grantaire returned silently, not trusting himself to speak just yet.

OoOoOoOo

Back at the Musain afterwards, everyone congratulated Grantaire and questioned him as to when he had started to believe in the cause and why he had kept it a secret. They were so engrossed, for the first time, in their (former) cynic, that they didn't notice their leader slip out. They did however, notice him return, face pale, with a piece of parchment clutched in his hand.

"Lemarque is dead. His funeral is tomorrow."


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: And… the Revolution! This one I lost sleep over but I hope you like how I've written it, it's a little darker than the others and should be the second to last chapter. Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think._

_SarahBob: Thank you! I feel like everyone secretly loves Grantaire._

_Almost an Actress: That is so kind of you, thank you_

_TotaltotheMax: How are you so nice? Your reviews make my day, thank you._

_Angel'sTeaParty: Gah, I don't know what to say either. Thank you so much._

None of the Amis got any sleep that night. After the dramatic announcement, they had stayed at the Musain until well after closing time, discussing tactics for the next day, contingency plans; outlining anything that could go wrong and how to respond in each of those situations respectively, and going over the reasons they were preparing to erect a barricade that they would very possibly die on, in the middle of the great royal citadel that was Paris.

Even after they returned to their own apartments, nervousness and, yes, fear kept them awake. The only good thing was that, with the exception of Joly, none of them would be leaving loved ones behind were they to die. Musichetta didn't even ask the medical student to stay, to abandon his friends. She knew that he would never be able to live with himself if he let the opportunity to make a real change pass by. Joly knew this was why he loved her so much. Even so, it was bittersweet when each Ami had to say goodbye, for what could prove to be forever, to their homes, where they had made both good memories and bad.

Even Grantaire walked around in his apartment before he left. He looked at the paint stains on the floor and walls and remembered their causes with that sort of nostalgia that comes when you know you're about to lose something. He took out all his paintings and looked through them, for the first time happy with the way they turned out. They would never be sold of course, but perhaps they would be given away. Grantaire thought that would be nice, hopefully something he'd done in his life would make someone happy. He put his paintings back and walked out, closing the door with a sense of definite finality, before making his way to Courfeyrac's apartment.

He knocked on the door and seconds later Courfeyrac opened it. He smiled tiredly at Grantaire.

"Grantaire. I'm glad you're here. Enjolras has been wearing a hole in my floor." He ushered Grantaire in. Enjolras looked up from his pacing when they entered and smiled at Grantaire too.

"I'm glad you came."

Grantaire raised an eyebrow. "You doubted me? You wound me so" he said, putting a hand over his chest in mock offense. "By the way" he added, "you look terrible. You didn't sleep at all last night did you?"

Enjolras smiled grimly and ran a hand through his hair in a distracted manner.

"No, well ammunition stocks aren't going to organize themselves now are they?"

Grantaire started to nod, but his attention was diverted to the figure he had just noticed hunched over a desk on the other side of the room.

"Hello!" He called out. The figure turned, exposing a freckled complexion framed by wavy brown hair and eyes even more tired than those of Enjolras or Grantaire himself.

"Marius! It's good to see you." He crossed the room to shake his hand. Maris mumbled a likewise greeting and then there was a knock on the door. Courfeyrac opened it to reveal Combeferre who quickly stepped inside. He looked a little disheveled, and the lines of his face were stretched tight with stress.

"It's okay, I didn't see anything suspicious on my way here. No grenadiers patrolling or members of the National Guard. I believe the king remains ignorant."

Enjolras nodded his thanks at the news and picked up his coat from where he'd slung it over a chair.

"We'd best be going then." The other three nodded and Courfeyrac also donned his coat before turning a little hesitantly to Marius who was still watching them.

"Would-would you like to come with us?" He asked. He knew Marius supported their ideals, even if they did disagree about Napoleon. Marius however shook his head and turned back to whatever he was writing. He didn't see the small smiles Courfeyrac exchanged with Grantaire. At least that was one fewer person risking death.

Courfeyrac, Enjolras, Combeferre and Grantaire met up with Feuilly who told them he had given away the fans he's made but wasn't going to be able to sell, Jehan whose hair was braided with flowers and who insisted on tucking a four-leafed clover into each of their pockets for luck, Bahorel who already had blood on his teeth, Bossuet who had accidentally left his cockade at home and Joly whose pockets were stuffed with bandages, needles and thread (though Enjolras had reasoned they wouldn't do much good).

They met a few blocks from the main street where the funeral procession was to happen and so they made their way there together, enjoying the camaraderie of each others' presence.

The next few hours passed quickly. The saluted the coffin of Lamarque as it passed by and then made their way across the city to the little wine shop that would be their battleground in the hours to come.

So they built a barricade in the middle of a city about to become hostile. They ripped up the pavements, took chairs and tables from the wine shop and other furniture sympathetic inhabitants of the surrounding houses threw down. Upon one point however, Enjolras was adamant. They would not drag them into their fight. Their houses would not be used as escape routes and they would not force them to come down.

As the sun travelled across the sky, the barricade was built up higher and higher on the three sides that were open at the junction of two streets where the wine shop was located. They had left a small gap at the edge of the smallest street, guessing that to be the least likely side the National Guard would attack from, and knowing they would need a route by which they could leave to get information. Others joined them, they had heard and they had come.

The afternoon was spent in preparation, organizing rationing of the gunpowder, guns and ammunition. They didn't bring anything to eat as any time one of the Amis mentioned it, Enjolras would invariably reply with 'something to eat? Why? It is Wednesday, by Friday we shall be dead or gone." They thought this was terribly morbid of him, but in any case, the only food on the barricade was to be found in the wine shop.

Sometime during the afternoon, a frail looking figure climbed through the gap in the barricade, two small pistols tucked into his belt and an expression of pure resignation on his face.

"Marius?!"

The man in question smiled weakly at the astonished Courfeyrac and went into the wine shop to ask Enjolras if he minded his joining the revolution. The leader was surprised of course, but was in no position to turn him down. The others wondered why he had eventually decided to risk his life for a cause he didn't seem that interested in, he had only come to one meeting after all. Bahorel thought he had come because he couldn't miss out on a fight, Combeferre was sure it was because Marius couldn't bring himself to sit back and let events unfold, clearly he cared about Courfeyrac at least and perhaps his faith in the cause had won out? Jehan on the other hand was convinced it was an episode of unrequited love. Courfeyrac busied himself with piling some bits of wood he found on the top of the barricade so no one could see how his hands trembled with fear at the thought of his best friend dying because of him.

At roughly five, Enjolras, Combeferre and Grantaire were sat at the only table not being crushed by the weight of others at the base of the barricade, in the front room of the wine shop discussing tactics. Enjolras wanted to spread out to the other barricades when the National Guard surrendered so that they would control a bigger swath of the city, while Combeferre thought it would be wiser to stay at the barricade until the city entire was under their control.

"We don't have enough men to stretch all the way to another barricade! We'll be strung out and the remaining Guards will kill us all."

"No they won't because there won't _be _any. That's the point. And what about food? We'll win but if won't matter if we-"

He was cut off the sharp crack of a gunshot from outside and in the next instant had grabbed his carbine from where it lay on the table and was striding out of the wine shop, Combeferre and Grantaire on his heels.

He stepped outside in time to see a horrified Jehan grab a still smoking musket out of Bahorel's musket, both looking to the top of the barricade where a man dressed in the uniform of the National Guard swayed in position, holding a bloody wound in his side, his own bayonet slipping out of his weakened fingers. He had clearly been trying to sneak over the barricade, though the purpose of this was questionable.

Enjolras paused for a second as he made his decision. He couldn't save the man, even as he posed no threat to their insurrection, that would send the wrong message; he couldn't heal the enemy. Even so, the small shake of Combeferre's head when he glanced at him told him he wouldn't live anyway. He leveled his gun at the pitiful figure and pulled the trigger.

Thus the first blood at the barricade was spilled by the marble leader. Enjolras, now a murderer glanced around and then at Grantaire. His eyes were sad but his voice was clear and carried to all those around through the silence that had fallen after the second gunshot had rung out.

"What I have done is terrible. Therefore I have judged myself for it and I should hope you will see to what I have sentenced myself."

Grantaire opened his mouth to reply but before he could form a sound, Combeferre, who was standing beside him called out:

"We will share your fate!"

Enjolras met his eyes with an expression half of gratitude and half of regret. He turned back to the semicircle of men who had formed around him, now facing the barricade.

"The time will come when actions such as the one I have just taken will not be necessary. The time will come when the earth will be free."

He walked back into the wine shop, but paused as he passed Combeferre and spoke softly to him, so that only he and Grantaire could hear:

"And it is in order that it shall come, that we are about to die."

'-*-*-*-*-*-'

Heavy silence lay on the barricade as dusk fell, a silence that spoke of past horrors, of the body that had been dumped over the barricade, and the terrible knowledge that the stars that were appearing now in the sky above may be the last they would ever see.

Just as the sun dipped under the horizon, the stepping of feet could be heard echoing of the paving stones and the sound of yelling voices permeated the warm air of summer.

"Enjolras!"

The cry summoned Enjolras from where he was sat with Grantaire with their backs against the pink post in the middle of the wine shop that had given it its name. He ran outside and Jehan hurried up to him, barely contained fear in his eyes.

"They are coming."

If Enjolras was not known for his empathy and consideration, he was certainly known for being a good leader and, like all good leader, he kept calm in the face of a crisis.

He once again took ahold of his gun and exited the café, barking orders as he went.

"Bahorel, you and your team on the Rue de la Chanvrerie side, but stay down out of sight for the moment. Joly you take your team to the other side and do the same, Combeferre in the middle."

He headed there himself but instead of waiting at the bottom, climbed to the top and stood, with almost his entire body over the top and faced the enemy.

"Who are you?" yelled one of the men in the front line. From the number of badges adorning his uniform and the size of his moustache, he was clearly the commanding officer.

Enjolras gazed calmly at him and replied in a strong and haughty tone: "I am a priest of the French Revolution."

The officer's face clouded over with rage and he nudged the soldier beside him. In the next instant a bullet whizzed past Enjolras' head, missing him by inches. A lesser man may have flinched but the young man of only six and twenty years who stood there staring death in the face simply laughed softly and reopened his mouth to say something that was intended to provoke the army he faced when he felt a hand tug him down beneath the barricade once more.

Grantaire only let go of Enjolras' arm when they were on the street once more.

"What do you think you were doing?!" He hissed at him.

"I was simply-" Enjolras started when Grantaire interrupted him, anger and fear mingling in his expression.

"Trying to get yourself killed? Have you ever thought what we would do without you? If you-"

"Grantaire" It was Enjolras' turn. "Calm down, there were always going to be risks, you knew that. Now it's starting to rain so I would like you to-"

"I love you." The words slipped out of his mouth almost unbidden, except his mind acknowledged they were true. Enjolras' eyes widened and he stepped back from Grantaire, turning and hurrying away but keeping eye contact.

"Courfeyrac…!"

Grantaire didn't hear the rest. He stumbled backwards, both devastated and raging at himself. Why had he done that? Why had he gone and ruined everything, just when Enjolras finally trusted him to do something? He ran into the wine shop and down into the cellar. He drank until he passed out, sure that he would be more use there than in the fighting.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N Welcome to the final installment of The Cynic and the Believer! Thank you so so much everyone who has read and reviewed and everything. It makes me so happy that people like my story since I've had fun writing it and might miss it a little. Please tell me what you think of the conclusion, and I would also love some constructive criticism for next time (requests too). Thank you!_

_SarahBob: Thanks _

_TotaltotheMax: He is rather isn't he? And thank you, I have fun writing those bits. _

"Courefyrac! I need you and Feuilly to move the gunpowder stocks inside, it's starting to rain."

The two of them ran over to Enjolras from where they was crouched beside a chair with splintered legs and together they moved the stocks into the wine shop, and where just emerging when they heard the second gun shot and the beginning of the skirmish proper. They glanced at each other and ran back out to the barricade their friends were climbing and starting to shoot from. They followed suit and as they reached the top, it was to see a line of advancing National Guards. Courfeyrac took a deep breath, cocked his musket and shot into the middle of them.

Enjolras had ascended the barricade for a second time after issuing the order to Courfeyrac and Feuilly for the single purpose of eliciting an end to the tense waiting. He had ordered Combeferre's team to start shooting after the next gun shot and simply sticking his head above the line of the barricade had the desired result. The bullet was closer to his head this time, but he was already ducking when it was fired so, as he crouched there, breathing hard, and listening to the shots and yells already being exchanged, his one thought was 'I'm not dead yet'.

He stepped back up and took a moment to look from left to right, his friends were all up there beside him, fighting in the revolution he'd incited. He didn't have time to feel anything quite yet, and turned his attention to the problem before him. He brought his carbine up to his shoulder and fired off a few shots in quick succession, allowing himself brief moments of grim satisfaction as each one hit a target and slowed the onslaught of soldiers. Not by much however. The ones on the front line had almost reached the barricade, if they didn't stop them now, their fight would be over before it had begun.

"Concentrate on the ones in the front line!" he yelled, trying to contain the desperation he felt, lest it be conferred to his men. "Don't waste shots in the middle, we need to slow them down!"

He feared he wasn't being heard over the deafening noise of conflict but in the next minutes, the revolutionaries' fire was mostly hitting the intended targets and they were forced to fall back slightly. However, not enough. They had reached the barricade.

Enjolras ducked down under it and ran to Combeferre. He grabbed his arm and dragged him below the line of the barricade to speak urgently to him.

"Contingency plan. Now."

Combeferre nodded tersely and Enjolras released his arm. They both crested the barricade and Enjolras picked up a piece of flint and steel he had left there for this purpose and lit a torch. Combeferre moved a piece of a chair off of a barrel of gunpowder formerly concealed inside the barricade. Enjolras and Combeferre exchanged a glance and Enjolras stepped forward. The National Guards were now climbing the barricade from the other side, not an easy feat from the way they'd built it, but in any case, were now only feet away.

"Stop!"

Surprisingly, whether it was because of the lugubrious majesty of the figure holding a flaming torch silhouetted against the dying light that lit his golden hair, creating a halo of sorts around his head, or more probably because the Amis heard and ceased shooting and because the artillery sergeant deduced the plan and echoed Enjolras' order, the barricade was plunged into silence as all those on it lowered their weapons.

Enjolras held the flaming torch over the barrel of gunpowder and issued the ultimatum:

"Fall back or I shall blow up this barricade" his voice was soft and all the more menacing because of it.

The artillery sergeant elbowed his soldiers aside to step up to the barricade and address Enjolras directly.

"You would kill yourself and your friends" his tone was mocking, but underneath that lay thinly-veiled anger. This man, this _boy _had embarrassed them enough today but there was no doubt in his mind that he wouldn't have the courage and sheer stupidity to follow through.

Perhaps Enjolras saw this for his eyes were hard when he lifted his chin imperiously to stare down his enemy.

"And kill myself also."

The artillery sergeant scoffed, empty threats, he was sure of it. A small smile touched his lips.

"You would not."

Instead of answering, Enjolras lowered the torch towards the gunpowder, close enough that even Combeferre couldn't help but flinch slightly. Enjolras didn't notice however, his eyes were fixed on those of the artillery sergeant so he noticed the first flicker of doubt flash over his steely gray eyes. The artillery sergeant hesitated for a second before throwing his hands up in disgust.

"Fall back! That's an order!" He bellowed before turning and preceding his soldiers back down the Rue de la Chanvrerie and away, at least for the moment, from the barricade.

The moment the last of them were out of sight, Combeferre gently pried the torch out of Enjolras' hands and put it out with his coat. Enjolras stared after the guards a few moments longer, but finally wrenched his gaze away and smiled slightly in relief at Combeferre before dismounting the barricade.

The rest of the night passed slowly, although there had been no causalities, they all felt the weight of danger heavily and of course none of them could sleep.

No one was more restless than Enjolras, despite coaxing from the part of Combeferre and Jehan, he refused to sit with the rest of the Amis in the wine shop, instead choosing to pace incessantly, his mind clearly racing and tearing itself apart, chafing at the inaction. He just needed to do something, to engage his mind, to talk or debate with-

"Courfeyrac" he stated sharply, causing Courfeyrac to look up quickly. "Where's Grantaire?"

Courfeyrac bit his lip but forced himself to meet his leader's gaze.

"He's uh... in the cellar." Enjolras raised an eyebrow.

"Passed out" Joly supplied helpfully. Enjolras sighed forcefully and ran a hand through his hair in agitation. Of course, back to the drink like nothing had even happened, just when- no he couldn't think of it.

"I'm going to do some reconnaissance" he announced abruptly and before the rest of them could formulate a reply, he had swept out of the café. He shed his red jacket and left it hanging on the side of the barricade the formed a door of sorts to the only passage that led out of the barricade, before ducking out.

He moved stealthily through the deserted streets, keeping to the shadows and visited the other barricades one by one. He was met by the same scene at each: national guards all over, pulling the bodies of insurgents into rows, arresting others, laughing amongst themselves at the would-be revolutionaries and the ruins of their barricades. Blood ran into the streets and small cries of the wounded could be discerned from where Enjolras observed, far enough away that he wouldn't be noticed. His spirits sunk even lower as he made his way around the barricade district and seeing scenes of only destruction and pain. It was only as he was making his way back that the reality of what was happening finally hit him.

He stopped and all but fell to his knees on the hard cobblestones that lined the Rue de la Chanvrerie and pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes as though that could erase the images in his mind of his friends lying dead, _their_ blood soaking into the street. He tried to swallow but ended up leaning over to dry heave, blinking tears from his eyes, taking deep breaths to steady himself as the images finally receded. In the next second, the abject hopelessness of the situation sank in and he buried his face in his arms. They were all going to die, and they would have achieved nothing. _Theirs was the last barricade left. _The king would remain, the people would continue to starve and live in terrible inequality, dying on the streets while the rich stayed selfishly in their grand houses, caring nothing for their fellow man.

And he, Enjolras, would return to lead his friends to their deaths, they who trusted him, they who would be loyal to him to the end, they who _loved_… Enjolras' mind, as it was wont to do these past few days, returned to Grantaire. He would die too, for a cause he barely even believed in, because of Enjolras himself, it was too much to hope the National Guard would not search the cellar when they took the barricade. A wave of terror passed through him and he blinked in surprise, and drew his head up. The entire notion of Grantaire loving him was absurd. He had always come across as cold and unapproachable, he remembered a girl he'd met told him she was convinced his heart was made of stone. He's always secretly agreed. He was admired yes, but for his ideas, his passion, not himself. So what could the self-proclaimed cynic see in him that others didn't? He supposed it didn't matter really, he was incapable of loving him back, it is true he had developed a certain fondness for him now that he didn't drink (or so he thought) and actually started to believe in the cause that was so close to Enjolras' heart, but that was the extent of it. They would both die within a few hours anyway and it's wouldn't matter, he decided and so tried to put the matter out of his mind. For now, it was his duty to return to his barricade and shatter his friends' hope just as his had been shattered. He forced himself up and rubbed at his face with his shirt sleeves in an effort to destroy all evidence of weakness. As a leader he needed to be strong in the face of defeat. He owed that much to his friends.

It never occurred to him that he could simply leave and keep his life.

Bahorel and Bossuet were engaged in a fiercely competitive game of cards when Enjolras. He seemed to Combeferre to be ten years older than he been that evening when he told them they were the only ones left. The Amis exchanged sad glances but refused to show any signs of fear, if they were to die, they would go out with dignity. And, as Bahorel pointed out, they would take as many of the National Guard with them as they could.

They didn't even have to wait for the sun to properly clear the horizon before the second attack came. This time, they ran outside to see the National Guard on the barricades. They tried to force them back, but they had lost the advantage and they were falling as they charged them. Bahorel was the first of the Amis, run through by a bayonet as he attacked, fearless to the end, Feuilly was next, shot by no less than five bullets as he tried to avenge his best friend. And suddenly through the haze of gun-smoke and screams, Enjolras saw the artillery sergeant emerge over the top the barricade. Time seemed to slow as their eyes met and they both aimed their guns, Enjolras shot first and allowed himself a small moment of morbid satisfaction as he toppled slowly off the barricade, dead instantly. This moment however, cost Combeferre his life, Enjolras let his guard down and a soldier saw his opportunity. Combeferre pushed Enjolras out of the way of the bullet and in doing so took it in the chest. Enjolras looked at him in horror and, catching him as he fell, was only allowed to meet his eyes briefly before the light in them went out. He kissed his brow before letting his body fall to the ground.

"Fall back! To the wine shop!" The three who could obeyed the command and ran for the wine shop. Jehan and Courfeyrac both fell before they could make it however, leaving Enjolras alone, with his back pressed against the wall when the National Guard advanced in.

He threw aside his gun, expecting the shots that did not come.

´*-*-*-*-*'

Grantaire came to groggily, the room spinning disorientating as he tried to remember where he was. He sat on the cold floor of the cellar for a minute more, confused, before the memories (and a pounding headache) hit him and he stumbled to his feet, finally recognizing the sounds that had woke him as being gunshots.

He slowly climbed the steps up the front room of the wine shop, and the shock of what he saw cleared his head. Enjolras, backed against a wall, facing twenty of so National Guardsman, alone and unarmed.

"Did you kill the artillery sergeant?" demanded one of the soldiers.

Enjolras smiled humorlessly at him. "Yes" he answered simply. The soldier's expression hardened and he lifted his gun, as did the others.

"Wait!" The cry came from the other side of the room. Enjolras looked up sharply. Grantaire walked determinedly across the room and stood by Enjolras' side so that they faced death together. He addressed the guardsman who had questioned Enjolras.

"You may execute us together" he declared before frowning slightly as if he had remembered something. He turned back to Enjolras.

"Will you allow it to be so?" he asked gently. Enjolras' mind had recovered from the momentary shock and yes, joy at Grantaire's arrival, to arrive at a rather startling conclusion.

"You too!" he blurted, before taking a deep breath and looking Grantaire in the eyes. "I love you too."

Grantaire's eyes widened slightly before he broke into a grin. Enjolras returned it, albeit a little hesitantly, before Grantaire, acting on an impulse, leaned forward and pressed his lips to those of his marble leader.

"Fire!"


End file.
